Long Mensch Poems
Long Mensch Poems. Below are the most popular long Mensch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mensch poems by poem length and keyword.
The Chicago winds blew the soft, dark blue
satin drapes.
It was the spring of our passion.
Why do tears fall now, with you in a cold grave?
I think of what our life would have been like in Israel.
But of those never to be Shabbos meals, I can never tell.
You told me you were dying, but I did not believe you.
A mensch like you? Impossible!
Then, HaShem took you home on the last day of High Holidays.
The Chicago winds no longer blow the soft, dark blue satin
drapes ever again in Chicago.
Lake Michigan, outside my window and I still waiting.
In a stunned,silence.
Still hopelessly,languishing longing for you!
10-5-2020
Dame Judy Dench
Loves to fish for Tench
When she fixes her motor
She uses a wrench
If she’s feeling tired she sits down on a bench,
DJD is polylingual;
Her favourite language is French,
When she has a pooh in the morning
It causes a stench
DJD is a strong woman,
When Germans talk about her they call her ‘mensch’,
If she gets excited
Her buttocks they clench
When DJD gets dehydrated
Her thirst she will quench,
She is a fine looking woman,
But never call her a wench,
DJD did military service
She learnt to dig a slit trench,
She's into prehistory
And loves to visit Stonehenge,
DJD don't take no -
If she is dissed she'll get her revenge
She is super organised
When she does her filing she uses a big hole punch
If she gets hungry mid morning
She pauses for brunch,
If Helen Mirren calls round they go out for lunch,
DJD is very intuitive
and likes to follow a hunch,
Her off shore investments
Protected her from the credit crunch,
She's a feisty lady -
A reporter asked if 'she had a carer'
Well he got a bunch
Of fives from this diva
But to her friends she is staunch,
Even Harvey Weinstein - DJD protected his paunch,
Said she had a tat of his name on her bum
Cos her career he relaunched
With Victoria and Albert -
She never gives an inch
If Bond is stuck in a ditch
She pulls him out with a winch,
She takes on all the bad guys,
You never see her flinch,
When delivering a soliloquy
She makes it look like a cinch
She should be world president,
Donald J Trump would be the first one she would lynch!
Im tiefsten Unendlichkeit bin ich immerhin, da wo auch der Trommelstein steht! Er spricht mit
mir dürch die Dunkelheit!
Wann die geschliffenen Eiströpfen sowie auch die Schneefloken fällen und das glanzende,
himmlische Licht scheint auf die weiten Felder und die unzählingen Baüme.
Mit der Anstrengung des Alltags, zieht der Mensch seine Energie dürch das Einatmen der
natürlichen Kräfte.
Das Gleichgewicht der Elemente entspringt aus dem Erdiennen, und erinert uns an das wahre
Leben.
© Joe Maverick 25-02-2010
15-10-2010
MY THOUGHTS IN SLEEP
In the deepest timelessness I am,
And by me stands the pulsing stone,
He speaks with me through darkness deep
Polished ice on the fallen snowflakes drop.
A glittering heavenly light over rolling fields
Innumerable trees illuminate.
As with inflexible problems of mundane life
Mankind expends his energy,
While inhaling deep from nature’s breath.
The eternal balance of elemental life goes on,
& From within the earth’s bowels deep, groans emanate,
to impart to me life’s verity.
© Joe Maverick 25-02-2010
15-10-2010
his tired eyes yet sparkled with the love of his craft
a love steeped in awe and fear of its impact
the hunched shoulders hovered o'er each stroke of his pen
a quill dipped in an inkwell lined with holy men
frayed ritual fringes swaying this way and that
humming a wordless melody as a zaydie will do
midst reverie about heavenly angels he's winking at
or recalling a tender moment with his grandson of two
but of a sudden, all's darkness
zaydie's head thuds on his workbench
his lamp extinguished for aye ~
the noble craft of a mensch
June 27, 2020
The Old Scribe Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
_________________________________________________________
Notes: The Jewish 'scribe' (sofer) was and is a time-honored profession
'zaydie' is Yiddish for grandfather
a 'mensch' is Yiddish for a person of honor, integrity
No capital letters were used, in order to help convey the
innate modesty of a scribe of holy books.
My epitaph writ large...
courtesy third person singular.
Mise en scène pour décès
pardon his feeble attempt at French,
a unilingual English language
quibbling, and scribbling mensch
strongly advises applying
left handed monkey wrench,
which custom designed tool
assigned impossible mission
to discern sense and sensibility
regarding following poetic thread
subject of a fool's errand.
Mein kampf witnessed, punctuated,
and evinced courtesy final breath
automatically triggering (tumblr
to activate) final curtain call
and unremarkable death.
As stipulated in the living will
cremation of his lifeless body
cremated into soft gray powder.
A prerecorded hashtagged obituary
downloaded to individual smartphones
and simultaneously appeared on
the following poetry websites:
COSMOFUNNEL, Hello Poetry,
Neopoet, My Poetic Side, Poetry Soup,
PoetryNook, PoetryVibe, Prose|
A community of readers and writers,
and All Poetry.
He hesitated and lost out
on game of life big time
even fumbling crafting reasonable rhyme
noshing, spending, and whiling
inordinate amount of hours
squirreled away in his bedroom
surrounding himself with reading material.
He amassed fountainhead of knowledge
quietly engorging cerebral gray matter
whereat noggin swelled up
rivaling globe, but Atlas shrugged
at him, whose head
resembled the first Chinese brother
who swallowed the sea.
Odd his voracious appetite
to buzzfeed with one
after another binary byte
zealous precocity to engross himself
with storied reading material
that does extremely excite
(at the expense of healthy socialization)
where his imagination took flight,
nevertheless myopic eyes of his
did glean insight
keeping his cute button nose
between pages of choice morsels
to appease hunger
keeping himself awake
drinking high test coffee
during darkness aided by jacklight
processing meaty material with might
experiencing abundant, exultant,
intoxicant, over-extravagant
joie de vivre day or night,
a balm, elixir, inebriate... quite
the panacea to abet emotional incapacitation
which entails crafting poems
oftimes spending efforts
with efforts undertaking rewrite
unwittingly garnering a fanbase
courtesy ideology doth unite.
I sat next to an old geezer on a park bench
He looked at me, said "I can see you're a mensch"
Let me tell you what I've learned in the past 80 years.
"Oh no", thought I, but his words flew like spears:
"Who can fathom the deviousness of the heart
To know the mind from the face, there is no art.
Woe unto them that call evil good, take it as a clue
If they can't anchor themselves in the obviously true
Some claim darkness is light, and light dark
If you follow that lighthouse, you'll end up in a shark.
Prepare in advance, no practice leads to error
A peaceful scene then sudden terror
Never underestimate the fury of the wicked
It will come, as the prophet predicted.
You can work too hard, and not work smart
Get your sleep, take a walk, create some art
Your health must survive any deadline
Nothing achieved when a sprint is followed by decline.
The old man paused, took a sip of juice
Maybe this was my chance to break loose
I looked for a polite way to flee
But I was exhausted from my weekly game of Rugby.
"Death and life are in the power of the tongue
Words can cut deep even if sweetly sung.
There is no safety for good men, but to believe the worst of those
who when given two paths, the evil one chose.
Be slow to anger, make sure you understand
Incompetence rather than evil, often rules the land.
If a man comes to kill you, kill him first,
But seek truth and be wise, lest the roles reversed.
Do unto others as you want them to do unto you
Often they want their side heard, their point of view.
Hear out the extreme, the foreign, the new
For in the unexpected, there may be wisdom to pursue.
Hypocrisy is the tribute vice gives to what's good
We can't always live up to what we should
"And last," he said earnestly "I must preach
To think before talking, be concise in speech
Don't give strangers advice, for all our sakes
Especially if like me, you made endless mistakes
Be aware of your own contradictions
Know that reality is stranger than fiction.
"Thanks geezer", I said, "but I gotta go
"In the rugby game of life, you must have been a pro
In my hurry to leave my foot fell into a drain
All that advice, and now I have a sprain.
Oy vey iz mir, one day in the life of a common house broken schmeckle...,
who did pötschke
and squander many an opportunity
to become a mensch
instead he became persona non grata
condemned to a history of misery,
not unlike Doctor Hyde and Mister Jekyll,
where friends, Romans countrymen did heckle.
After all said and done,
I best have stayed
safe and sound in the womb,
or hopefully at the least honored after death
with a squadron of B-52s
flying overhead with vroom
while being enshrined in a tomb,
cuz the living years of yours truly (me),
one after another trial and tribulation did loom
which figurative weave
courtesy weft and warp wove gloom
ordained I experienced hell on earth,
thus an inescapable doom
left no option except to skadaddle
into the outer limits of the twilight zone
at the edge of night
courtesy magic broom.
Plenty of times,
I ate in a crowded house,
where the crawdads sing
sinking their teeth into cranberries, meatloaf
and red hot chili peppers
served with a side order of pop slop
don't be put off by the name,
which mishmash actually yum zook,
nevertheless cuisine fiends spurred a tussle
where flock of seagulls
who got into a spat took
sparring mates to the cleaners
with angry yardbirds twittering about xyz,
and tweeting when loosely translated
into English language essentially meant
much ado about floccinaucinihilipilification,*
(Sounds like
flaa·suh·now·suh·nai·uh·luh·pi·luh·fuh·kay·shn)
according to legendary interpretation
by expert ornithologist with keen insight
rivaling that of the eagles
known for their skill playing chess
ofttimes, use an upside-down rook
to designate a queen
under United States chess federation
rules and in casual play take a look
for yourself, rather than believe amateur
what might be considered poppycock hook
line and sinker qualifying as gobbledygook,
which utter nonsense I did cook
up, yet please feel welcome my gibberish to brook
*the estimation of something as worthless.
Written: October 19, 2023
Poem in the Fragmented Form Created by Poetess: Constance la France
The good work is done by people with jagged, broken edges because those edges cut things and leave an imprint, a design. By Harry Crews
_______________________________________
Love's blades tear within as a dull scalpel with teeth
Leaving merely a crushed, dead chunk of flesh
It shreds, gouges, and weeps till the heart bequeaths
Offering its heart gambles will be accepted fresh,
Being hugged frowns as it gulps the vile reality
The dagger sinks further, piercing the frailty of sanity
A heart still bleeds while succumbing to sociality
Pathetic, petrous parcel with pebbly peaks
Jagged-toothed dome rising into bespeaks,
Each is engraved, erose, and has surface breaks.
Swallowed by a murky quagmire of an abyss beneath,
Snapping at heels all life, laden with vessel mensch,
Unfathomable evil clings to grief and jagged vitality
Vow to thrive with every word your soul speaks.
He saw the noble beast collapse in blood and dirt,
Lashed by the owner’s cruel and ruthless crop
He rushed to cradle its head upon his stained coat,
And wept with sorrow that choked his broken heart.
He shared the pain of the majestic steed,
He cursed the world, its deceits, and all its sin.
He knew the truth was far beyond his reach,
He felt his faith, belief & reason crumble within.
For wasn’t he / the voice of the unfathomed deep -
Questioning / God and all ancient morality.
Dreaming / of will, and power, and ecstasy, -
Sparking / and de-catechizing minds / with originality.
But in that moment he was just a simple man
Who loved a lamb more than his Übermensch.
Who gave up his mind for one last act of sanity
Who became a mythical hero despite his Mensch.
The sacrificial lamb with a final breath doth whisper -
...“”Dionysus, The Crucified” - I am…your Zarathustra””
Godwin Adizue Ibeh
(1937-2017)
Mr. Godwin Adizue Ibeh
Aged 79 years
Was and is
My beloved, doting father
“Is” because he remains
Spiritually present
Present
In my memory
Present
In pictures and mementos
Present
In my dreams, smiles and tears
Present
In my prayers and imagination
His spirit
Hovers in the air
Above me like a hummingbird
His presence felt
At the mere mention
Of his name
Mr. Godwin Ibeh
Or simply “Daddy”
As I used to, and still
Lovingly call him
Or "Prof" by close friends
And acquaintances alike
Was a Nigerian-born
Naturalized American citizen
Migrated to the United States of America
In 1968
A bearer of many titles
Hobbies and accomplishments
An alumnus of Central State University
Wilberforce, Ohio. Graduated in 1970
With a BA in Psychology
An alumnus of Xavier University Graduate School
Cincinnati, Ohio. Graduated in 1975
With an MS in Correctional Psychology
An alumnus of University of Nigeria
Where he also taught Psychology in 1981
Received a PhD in Education
Specializing in Guidance and Counseling
He also moonlighted as a probation officer
A writer and a taxi driver
A father of four
First-generation African-American children
From oldest to youngest
Mildred
Yours truly, Edward
Stephen
Jeanette
A grandfather of three
A father-in-law of two
A former-husband
Of my beloved mother, Rose
An avid collector of hats
A voracious reader
And collector of books
A lover
Of jazz and classical music
An intellectual
A sage
A mensch
His personality
Avuncular, warm, and humorous
His smile
Radiant, brightly beautiful, beautifully bright
His laugh
Honest and infectious
His mouth
Spoke no evil
His destination
Heaven!
For he’s a child of God
And has led
A good, successful, fulfilled life
Gone, but never
Will be forgotten
Rest in peace, Dad
I will miss you...